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Dec 30, 2018 at 11:36 AM

It was way too long.

Over a decade since I had last seen my son.

The fault was mainly mine.

In his later, teenage wild out years, I couldn’t and didn’t want to risk my out spoken, take no shit,quick to throw a snap back to anyone that dares to make a disrespectful under the breath comment about his lifestyle.

He proudly defends his crown of me labeling him the gayest man on earth.

So for him to come to visit me at Canaan, one of the most violent penitentiaries in America, wasn’t a good idea fora number of different reasons at that time.

Our weekly phone calls would have to do.

Christmas 2018 happened to fall on a Tuesday this year, when I get my visits here at MDC Brooklyn where I’m still waiting to hear the outcome of my appeal.

My son, along with his sister Nia and my mother were coming to visit.

In our recent phone conversations, I asked him not to get too emotional with the tears.

Drew of course, sticking to his true form, denied my request.
“I’m just a very emotional person and I won’t be able to hold it back,” said with a flamboyancy I had no choice but to accept.

Walking through the visiting room door, a surprised lump caught my throat as I laid eyes on my son, looking like he stepped off the cover of the GQ magazine.

While he kept his cool, it was I that was struggling to hold back the flood of tears as we embraced and I gave my son a kiss.

The time flew by and after another strong hug and kiss goodbye, I gave the same to my mother and daughter, then doubled back for a third hug and kiss, thanking Drew for this incredible gift to end the year with.

I admit it’s a learned behavior, especially in my current living conditions, back on appeal here at M.D.C. Brooklyn.

I’ve found that the key is learning to put life in the proper perspective, a perspective from which you have a choice to choose.

That’s what determines the conditions of our lives anyway, a series of choices that attracted the situation we find ourselves in NOW.

So NOW, what choices are we making?

I choose to be positive and optimistic regardless of what’s going on, and I’m faced with monumental challenges that don’t always appear to be working in my favor.

But I have this secret power of faith that I’m always able to rely on in difficult times.

Fears and worries of future events, only hijack the essence of the presence of NOW, cutting one’s self with a double-edged sword.

I choose to be happy and grateful, living in the moment of NOW because in all reality, NOW is all we have.

If I allow my mind to wander with all the should of’s, could of’s, and what if’s, I’d stress myself out, losing all the peace and poise I’ve learned not to take for granted.

I entertain a certain mental attitude of gratitude, that conforms to my spiritual system of belief, and choosing to cherish the moment of NOW positively, is a determining factor to the unfoldment of the conditions I attract to the NOW of my future.

There is an impelling creative force at work in our lives, directed by our thoughts and emotions. The choice to choose in this moment of NOW, expresses to the world who you are. If your not happy with that choice, in that same instant of NOW you can change.

The choice is always yours and always has been. Yet, when we find ourselves in undesirable conditions, accepting responsibility for our bad choices is hard to admit.

But NOW that you know, NOW you can do better, and there’s no more perfect time to apply what you NOW know then NOW!!

This young Haitian guy Stevie, but calling himself Hyena, came back to the unit after spending 40 days in the hole.

He’s 21 years old but when I tell you he looks like he’s 12, I mean it. He’s shorter than my 13 year old daughter and weighs about 100 pound soaking wet. If we were free in the world together, I’d take him right to my Princesses middle school to beat up all the little boys that want to be her boyfriend.

Anyway, Hyena lost his mother in the earthquake that devastated Haiti and came to live with his uncle in Brooklyn. It didn’t take long for the lure of the streets to take hold and he’s since found himself as a member of the Cripps.

Charged with armed robbery, the Feds offered him 10 years on a plea deal.

He came to my cell, asking me for advice.

“Eddie, ten years is like life,” he said with his strong Haitian creo accent.

“That’s how it seems now, but your young, you’ll be all right. Take that!”

“You say that like it’s nothing because you have over 13 years in already.”

“No” I corrected, “I say it like it’s a good deal and if you think about going to trial, they’ll knock your head off with twenty years or more.”

“Well, I’ll go to trial and they’ll have to give me that!” He said.

I’ve heard this argument many times before and I recognize it as the fear talking.

I also understand that he’s looking towards me for advice because he’s scared for his life.

“Hyena, your running around on gang time. You just got out the hole and your chasing the next high smoking all that K-2.”

“I been a Crip before I came to the Feds and I’m Cripping until that day I die. I get high all day cause there’s nothing else to do.”

“There’s plenty to do. Your not making the choices to do it.” I said continuing, “You have to want better for yourself and that means you’ll have to do change.”

“Change for what? They want to give me 10 years!!” He said leaning forward in the chair, running his hands through his mini-afro.

“First of all, if you start changing now, you won’t loose your good time and you’ll be home in like eight years.”

“Eight years!!”

“Listen, this is what comes with the lifestyle your choosing, so get used to it. You want to be a gangster, bust your gun, wave your flag while throwing your little hand signs, then be prepare to do more time after that because you’ll either be killed or come back to prison, those are the consequences.”

“I want like two or three years,” he said like he didn’t hear what I just told him.

“That’s easy to say but the way your thinking and the actions your taking in here are attracting a different result. Take that little bitty 10 years, hopefully it will be enough time for you to wake up and live your true potential.”

Standing up, offering his hand, shaking his head he said, “Man, you say take 10 years like it’s nothing. I can’t hear that right now.”

“You don’t want to hear it, but I speak the truth to the youth!” I said as he turned and walked out my cell.

As much as I would like to grab Hyena, sit him back in the chair and talk to him until he’s ready to change, I know that he has to want better for himself first.

He has no idea that the patterns of thoughts he’s entertaining are setting the laws of attraction in motion to draw his experiences.

He’s convinced himself that he’s a Crip in his mind and speaks without understanding that our words have the power to become the results of what’s spoken. Hyena can’t see the logical conclusions of the path he’s currently on and when I was his age, neither could I.

I try to discourage those headed on that path, but in the mist of doing time, it’s a difficult barrier to conquer.

Instead of focusing on how much time I’ve done or have to do, I pay attention to what I’ve accomplished and my future goals.

Right before we locked in that night, I passed Hyena my “Day in the life with coffee and Paradise” book.

He gave it back this morning, having finished it since it’s only 30 pages.

“Does life really work like that?” he asked.

“That’s a question you should be able to answer if your honest with yourself. Think back to how you were thinking in the past and what lead to where you are now.”

“I like the way you break all that down with the laws and principals. Do you have something else to read?”

I want to thank Temecula Bookworms for reading “Voice for the Silent Fathers”. With every new reader, I feel like I’ve made a new friend and I hope the feeling is the same.

1. In your book, you identify disassociation as your coping mechanism before coming to acceptance. What created the shift?

My disassociation or my detachment ended when I came to the point when I was really doing my own personal evaluation of who I am. When the suicide situation came into play, knowing that homosexual teens have the highest suicide rate, my son’s sexuality meant nothing to me. All I wanted was for him to live. I didn’t have the answers to how I would deal with his gayness, but death is final, you can’t come back from that.

2. Once you decided to accept your sons’ lifestyle how did you move towards a relationship with him and what was his initial response?

There were always small steps throughout the years. One that stands out is when I asked him if he was gay and he said “No” because he knew that’s the answer I wanted to hear, fearing my response if he told me the truth. I told him I would love him if he was but he didn’t believe that, and why should he when I mishandled other situation in the past. But when I wrote him the letters explaining I always knew he was gay and accepted him, his initial response was a little too much for me, with wanting to tell me about his boyfriends and talking to me like a friend instead of his father. I explained that to him and he respects that. We have boundaries that continue to grow more and more still.

3. What made your move successful for you?

The fact that there was nothing wrong with accepting my son. Once I chose to accept the truth of what is, there was a weight lifted off my shoulders.

4. In your book, you visit the concept of accepting relationships between parents and their gay children and the lessons you have learned the hard way. What are some of the primary lessons you have learned and how can a parent avoid those pitfalls?

I’ve learned to not judge what I don’t understand. All that stress, hurt, and feeling of disappointment were all my self-inflicted wounds because of my closed-mindedness. There’s no perfect way to avoid the pitfalls, that’s parenting. Your child knowing that their sexuality isn’t a determining factor in the relationship is the key to success.

5. As a father of a gay man, when you were targeted by your friends how did that play itself out in your life?

When my friends would joke about the possibility of my son being gay, I gave the macho gangster responses like “I’d kill him” or “I’d disown him” but he was just a kid. My friends have supported me. I’ve been congratulated for having the courage to admit I have a gay son, which is sad when you think about it.

6. How can fathers of gay men better support their sons and defend the relationships they have with their gay sons?

By making sure their sons know they have their love and support first. But then I’m still finding that I take steps to show it by asking about his current boyfriend and discussing different aspects of having a healthy relationship. Once when I called him, his boyfriend was there and I asked to speak with him. That meant a lot to my son and for his boyfriend at that time. So it’s not only saying you accept them but taking the actions to show your support.

7. A lot of people think that being Gay is a choice. What’s you’re feeling about that?

I don’t think it’s a choice. That’s like me saying, one day I choose to be heterosexual. I’ve always been straight and my son has always been gay.

8. What can we do as mothers to be more supportive of gay sons and their relationships with their fathers?

Force the fathers to read my book! But really, mothers might have to be the ones that explain to their sons that it’s the fathers who really have the problem. One reader told me that my son raised me, and on some level…he did.

9. What do you say to people who think being gay and living a gay lifestyle is sinful and we should not be accepting?

There was a time not to long ago when marriage of a different race was considered a sin and slavery wasn’t, all authorized using the bible. My God is one of unconditional love. I’ve experienced hell when I wouldn’t accept my son. I think calling the gay lifestyle “sinful” is a cop-out for those that fear change and refuse to evolve. It’s the easy way out of dealing with the reality that love knows no race or gender. Love is love.

10. Tell us about your next book series.

The Evolution of a Gangster Turned Guru is just what it sounds like. My spiritual journey of finding my true self, building a relationship with God and helping others to do that same.

My cell is considered an executive suite for two reasons. The first is that I have a direct TV shot of two out of the four 50 inch flat screens, so should I choose to I could stay up all night watching television that we listen to through our walkmans.

My celli’s love the fact that I don’t watch much TV, so when we lock in at 9:30 pm for the night, they can stack our two blue plastic chairs on top of one another, place the pillow over the backrest for a cushion and sit comfortably watching their shows.

When word spread that I don’t watch TV, offers to buy my cell started coming in. Yes, you read that right, offers to buy a prison cell. It’s one of those things you don’t hear about or see on prison shows like “Lockup,” but cells are sold all throughout the federal system.

I got this current cell the old school way. Once I saw it was empty, first thing in the morning I moved in and made the change with the counselor and that was it. There was a little fuss when those that had their eye’s on the cell woke up later to find me already comfortably moved in, but you snooze you lose, the early bird gets the worm and all that.

I wasn’t trying to hear anything about it and they defiantly didn’t want to argue with me because I was here for only a few weeks at the time and mentally I was still in a penitentiary mode that no one wanted to test.

Currently, the market value of my cell is at a one-time price between $200-$250. The Presidential suites, where you can see all four televisions go for up to $500. But the second more important reason my cell is considered an executive suite is that my 7th floor view where I spend hours gazing out at the New York city skyline has another million dollar view when I look down across the street of the Metropolitan Detention Center and see a huge one-story warehouse that runs the length of the block whose side red brick wall faces our building.

Single parking spaces the line the street, where I see correction officers coming to work, attorney’s on their way to meet with clients, mothers, wives, girlfriends, kids and friends on their way entering the building to bring an hour of freedom for a visit.

On the corner of 29th and 1st street, directly in front of my cell towards the back of the red brick wall, there is a dark burgundy aluminum structure sticking out on the side that was probably used for extra storage or deliveries.

It’s been out of commission for years since there’s no roof and a tree about eighteen feet tall growing in the middle of it, but this aluminum burgundy structure gets plenty of use.

It’s a platform of expression for us that look at it every day seeing signs from a loved one that has turned this aluminum burgundy structure into a memorial of inspirational support.

Fathers day and birthday wishes signs reading how much we’re missed and loved, balloons, flags, blown up photos and pictures drawn by children are all testimonials that help every one of us in this building during these challenging times.

It doesn’t have to be a sign specifically for us, placed by our family members, we all appreciate the effort that’s made and know that it’s our loved ones who are doing the real hard time.

Everyday family members stand across the street looking up at our darken windows waving and blowing kisses, hoping that their incarcerated loved one is looking back. I always take my nail clipper and repeatedly tap on the window acknowledging their presence, letting them know they’ve been seen and efforts are appreciated.
During the last two week lockdown when there were no visits, I saw the same mother come once each week to put up a sign and blow kisses for a full hour towards our building, letting her son know the level of love and devotion she has for him. It reminded me of my mother who’s giving me that same type of support, not only these last 13 years in prison but for each moment of my life.

I had a visit on Tuesday, October 24th, which was considered my birthday visit since I’m turning 45 on Friday the 27th. During the afternoon lock-in prior to the visiting session, I looked out at the wall seeing all the same expressions of love from the day before. An hour later, when they unlocked the doors, I rose up from my bed to prepare to get ready to hear my name called to the visiting room, extra excited to see my mother and daughter Nia.

I glanced out the window again and noticed five blue helium balloons tied up on the corner of the wall and instinctively knew it was my mother and Nia that hung them. They were both beaming with smiles when I walked into the visiting room and said, “I saw the five balloons!” as soon as I hugged them hello.

This morning, I woke up and stared at my balloons. I went and worked out, took my shower, got dressed, fixed my 2nd cup of coffee and enjoyed it sitting on my plastic chair looking down out my window seeing the three dark and two light blue birthday balloons blowing in the wind.

I’ve often written how these years in prison make me grateful for the small things in life. A handwritten letter, a thinking of you card, pictures and taking the time to visit. I’ve been blessed throughout these years to have people in my life that do all these things showing nothing but loving support.

I know in a week or so those five blue birthday balloons will be deflated, hanging by the string, fluttering in the wind against the wall, but the symbol of love that those balloons represent is everlasting and the best birthday gift I’ve ever received!

We’ve all heard the saying “Everyone has a book in them,” yet the most difficult obstacle would be authors have is actually finding the time to sit down and write the murder mystery, romantic drama, science-fiction fantasy, spy novel or non fiction memoir without having to worry about the gas and electric bills, providing three meals and the numerous everyday necessary responsibilities causing distractions from that creative zone to freely express thoughts and ideas to be shared with the world.

I don’t have that problem, waking up at 5:30 am after seven hours rest, enjoying my first strong hot black coffee while checking e-mail messages at the computer followed by a two-hour work out session. After a nice sweat, I take a steaming hot shower, get dressed in some comfortable gray sweatpants and matching tee shirt, then I mix a banana with a scoop of peanut butter and small carton of milk, like they gave us in elementary school to go with my bran flakes, nuts, and granola cereal. By 9:15 am, it’s time for my second cup of coffee that cools on the table behind me while I lay my notebook out on the bed that I use as my writers’ desk.

If there are no pen marks on the light tan cotton blanket it’s a sign of writer’s block, but that doesn’t happen much because I’m surrounded by an overabundance of true-life stories with main characters anxious to reveal details of everything from murderous gangland plots, wall street money schemes, credit card scams, embezzlers, gun traffickers and even Isis terrorist. I don’t have to solicit their stories or pry for details, actually, I just sit back and listen, finding myself saying “I don’t want to know about that!” far too often.

If there’s one person that knows the power our government yields with the broad scope of a conspiracy it is I, have been fighting my draconian sentence for such a charge since 2004. It’s taken me over 12 years, but I’m finally back in New York at M.D.C. Brooklyn on a 2255 motion for ineffective assistance of counsel. Most of the guys in my unit are here on pre-trial or transferring to another prison. This facility is a lot different from where I’ve spent my previous 8 years at USP Canaan, where there were stabbings every week and we could count on a murder or two a year.

I was shell-shocked for the first few months I came here. There’s a big difference between being in a jail and a penitentiary. Jail is like the rides at a local carnival, the penitentiary is like the rides at a Six Flags Great Adventure amusement park.

Some of these guys look like juveniles and coming here I realized the gang epidemic is spreading through New York like in the West Coast L.A. back in the 80’s. A young Puerto Rican Crip calling himself French is just 18 years old, he was six when I got locked up!! He only weighs about 130 pounds with black low hair cut like a member of the Beetles and an angry babyface who has no idea what’s waiting for him once he reaches the real compound of the Penitentiary.

I see him on the visiting floor every week with his mother, who’s about my age but looking older by the week due to the stress brought on by the light of her life.

It breaks my heart to see, considering I’m being visited by my mother, who’s been giving unyielding support to me on my numerous prison trips since I was his age. I know what lies ahead for this young kids mom since when I tried to talk to French about changing the way he lives he wasn’t trying to hear me.

“I’m a Crip for life! That’s what’s cracking O.G.” he said, calling me a title of respect since I’ve been down so many years due to my previous gangster way of life.

At first, I took offense when all the younger guys called me O.G. (which stands for Original Gangster), not upset with them but with myself. I came in on this sentence when I was 32 and I’m about to turn 45 now asking myself “Were all those years wasted?”

Most would probably think “Yes” but I can attest to the fact that after a year into this sentence, I had the desire to change the way I live and that choice to change saved my life. Spiritually, I built a relationship with my higher power, God and I had some issues to work on but we’ve been good for some time. Physically, I was about 50 pounds overweight so I changed my diet, stuck to a work out routine, lost all the excess weight, started practicing Yoga and I’m as fit as ever. Mentally, I had to learn how to think, not from a gangster mentality but from a spiritual point of view by understanding the power of my thoughts, words, and actions.

I had to think about a new career so I began to write and discovered that when I pick up my blue Bic ballpoint pen, open my wireless notebook with the steaming aroma of my black coffee setting the ambiance to unlock the mental doors of my creative imagination, I am once again free. Not only am I free but I’m at peace, I’m happy and I’m blessed.

I’m not delusional, I realize that being in prison isn’t the ideal situation, but honestly, it can be a writers paradise.

I have an unlimited amount of resources to tap into, real characters that crime writing authors would love to sit with for an hour or two for a question and answer session. I live an F.B.I. profilers dream, to interview these individuals that come seeking guidance from the Gangster Turned Guru.

Most of them want me to write their books, after having read my first published book “Voice For the Silent Fathers”, but I advise them to start to write for themselves because if anything, writing is therapeutic and if they stick to it (which most don’t) hopefully they will discover the gift of freedom that writing offers.

I intend to share some of these stories in the future because I just can’t let this material go to waste. Even in this moment of writing, my new celli who’s been here for a little over two weeks is laying on the top bunk, staring out the window, shaking his head wondering how he ended up here. He’s one of the MS-13 gang leaders which are responsible for over 20 killings in the last two years on the east end of Long Island. The reality hasn’t set in on him yet, he’s only 23 and was about to be deported when the Feds charged him in a new indictment. His other three fellow gang members on the unit are charged with taking part in murdering two teenage girls and four young teenage boys in Brentwood as an initiation rite to join the gang, and he’s still wondering why he’s here! I’ve seen this movie before and know where it’s going. But his story will have to wait until it plays itself out.

Earlier this afternoon, I spent about an hour in a theological discussion with a young man who’s charged with promoting terrorism as an Isis recruiter. El Chapo’s right-hand man and best friend was asking me for physical training advice this morning when I finished my work out. These three interactions are just from today and I’ve been here for 18 months hearing and witnessing episodes that can keep a writer like myself running out of ink.

I use my interaction as an opportunity to shed light on the conditions we all find ourselves in and most that listen are receptive to my guidance because I’ve walked a similar path and speak in a non-judgmental tone. But I still give the raw and uncut truth about the situation we’re in and why.

When many of these guys, most young gang members, come to ask me for legal advice I don’t like being the bearer of bad news when I have to tell them “Tell your lawyer to get you a plea deal for 20 years!” They look at me like I’m crazy. I’ve had the toughest of street thugs unable to hold back tears, that if he had learned to cry years earlier probably would have helped him avoid this situation, but that’s neither here nor there. I take the time to explain that being in your early twenties, you can come home from a twenty year bid and live a productive life, which is something you currently can’t do with a life sentence that Federal Judges have no problem giving out, especially if you dare to exercise your constitutional right to a trial.

In pointing out that we’re all currently in this prison situation as a logical result of things that we’ve either thought, said or done, I emphasize that the exact same method of creation is what will change our condition. Although physically it may not change overnight, I advise learning to use this time for the more important transformation from within, will bring a greater change with life in general.

I attempt to keep a spiritual content with my writings, whether it’s my political thoughts, a fictional novel or autobiography. I just want to let my readers know that I’m currently in the ultimate writers retreat, so have no fear for there will be no lack of The Gangster Turned Guru’s reading material.
#gangsterturnedguru

I was very excited to be asked for a follow-up interview with Ms. Jamie Timmons, Author and Owner of Matters of My Heart, an emotional support program for adult survivors of domestic violence and/or sexual assault.

This interview, more like a discussion between friends talks about Jamie’ thoughts on Voice for the Silent Fathers and how it’s impacted her life personally. We also touch on my upcoming Gangster Turned Guru Presents series.

Grab a cup of coffee, sit back for the next 30 minutes and listen in. Don’t forget to leave a comment and let me know what you think. “Chat It Up…”